


Biggles Gets About

by wateroverstone



Category: Biggles Series - W. E. Johns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:13:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23148301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wateroverstone/pseuds/wateroverstone
Summary: An open invitation for people to write their own story with the title 'Biggles Gets About.'Biggles and Algy are invited to a houseparty.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Biggles Gets About

Biggles Gets About

It was a beautiful spring day in Mount Street and the forecast in the morning paper suggested that the whole country was in for a settled spell of decent weather with temperatures well above the norm for that time of year. Biggles had thrown this organ of information aside in disgust and was gazing out of the window, impatiently awaiting Algy’s return with the morning post. 

‘Well?’ he demanded as Algy walked through the door. ‘Is there anything interesting which will get me out of London? I’m fed up of the restaurants; there hasn’t been a decent show or flick on for weeks; I’m fed up of seeing Simpkins’ mouldy face at the Aero Club every time I pop in and I’m fed up of every day being like the last. What wouldn’t I give for a nice dogfight to redeem the tedium?’

Algy ignored the complaint and sorted the few envelopes in his hand into two piles.

‘My bank manager,’ he murmured, making no attempt to open that envelope, ‘one marked Mercury Motors for you,…’

Biggles curled his lip. ‘I’m doing no more work for that cheapskate. He promises the world until it’s done then he tries not to pay. He’s not worth my time. What else is in there?’

‘One from your bank manager,’ Algy grinned, ‘one from your tailor…’

‘If the sun stays out I’m tempted to become a naturalist and not bother with clothes,’ Biggles grumbled. ‘The amount it costs to keep a shirt on my back you’d think it was woven of gold and sunbeams.’

Algy paused, looking at the last envelope. It had an inky thumbprint partially over the stamp and the pen used to scribe the address had dripped ink blots. ‘Jonno Johnstone,’ he diagnosed. ‘No one else finds it so hard to write a simple envelope legibly. I wonder what disaster has occurred to make him put pen to paper?’

‘Is he the chap you were at school with?’ Biggles enquired, mildly interested. ‘The accident prone one?’

Algy nodded and slid his letter opener across the top of the envelope. The resistance suggested he was slicing the letter inside open as well as its outer covering.

‘Trust Jonno not to be able to fold a letter in such a way that the envelope can be opened without damaging the contents.’ Algy pulled out the two halves of Jonno’s letter and examined them. After a moment, he turned one half the other way up. ‘That’s better,’ he grunted.

Biggles resumed his examination of the street outside. ‘Miss Spenlock is coming out of number 42 ,’ he remarked. ‘She either went in very early or has been there all night again.’

‘Why this preoccupation with Miss Spenlock’s morals?’ Algy demanded. ‘You cross the street to avoid her.’  
‘It’s like examining the remains left by the kitchen cat,’ Biggles explained. ‘Repulsive but fascinating and much better viewed at a distance. And I’ve nothing better to do.’

Algy wondered if Biggles was referring to the body parts deemed inedible by Mrs Symes’s cat, which it fell to them to dispose of, as Mrs Symes was frightened of mice and their mortal remains - not that the cat left many fragments - or Miss Spenlock’s habits, but forbore to question more deeply.

‘Jonno wants to know if I fancy running up for the weekend to his place. You’ll be more than welcome if you want to come along. He’s rusticating at the parental place until he’s forgiven for the affair of the chorus girl and that dodgy art gallery he put all his readies into, and is even more bored than you, although probably less articulate about it. He’s been forgiven enough to be allowed a house party and is picking his more sober acquaintances to make a good impression on his parents.’

‘That’ll last until they set eyes on you,’ Biggles sneered. 

‘I’m on the approved list,’ Algy smiled. ‘His mother knows mine so I’m considered a golden boy with a halo and an all round good influence.’

‘Who else is going?’ Biggles wanted to know. ‘Any one I’m familiar with?’

Algy shrugged. ‘No idea. There might be. It’ll get you out of London for the weekend anyway, and give you a chance to remember how much you hate the country which might make you better tempered.’

‘Sorry. I hate doing nothing and life has been a bit flat recently,’ Biggles apologised. ‘Let’s go and play croquet and have a picnic by a river with sandwiches full of ants and take tea with the vicar’s wife.’

Friday afternoon saw them motoring through idyllic English villages. Biggles looked at thatched cottages, their gardens bright with new greenery interspersed with the purple and yellow flowers of spring; ancient oaks budding new leaves, shading the village greens they grew beside; half timbered pubs with their strange names a reminder of a mostly forgotten past, and cheered up. It was good to get out of London for a weekend, to see new places and new people. Algy, a map spread on his knees, guided him through a maze of small roads until they had reached the village wherein their destination lay. There, Algy had to shout at an old, mostly deaf and possibly imbecilic village elder, resting on a bench below the spreading branches of a Spanish Chestnut, to obtain the final directions to Jonno Johnston’s parental abode.

Biggles watched Algy’s attempts to communicate with amusement, musing on whether they would arrive at Jonno’s in time for dinner. He hoped so, but that depended on how long the old man found fun in pretending to mishear and misunderstand Algy. So far, he looked good to continue for hours. The village ancient might have been willing to prolong the game indefinitely but the arrival of his daughter to remind him that it was time for his tea frustrated his attempts.

‘Now, dad, you know perfectly well where the Johnstone place is,’ she scolded. ‘You can’t miss it, sir,’ she assured Algy. ‘Turn second right after the church and then left at the corner. There’s a gatehouse to mark the start of the drive but the gates are always open these days and the groundsman who lives there’s unlikely to be about. Not like the old days,’ she sighed.

Five minutes later, they were parking beside a large Victorian house: the sort that was designed to have a staff of twenty and was now being kept up with fewer than half that number. The signs had been visible all the way up the drive; beds designed to show off seasonal bedding plants were now filled with perennials or turned to grass, and the shrubbery was best described as unkempt. Biggles quite liked the wilder gardens and, as the drive was pothole free, he deduced that labour was being used where it mattered so he was likely to have a weekend of reasonable comfort without the stifling formality he vaguely remembered of houses before the war. 

A maid opened the door to them. A giggle made Biggles look up just in time to catch a glimpse of two girls whisking smartly out of sight away from the banister rail they had been peering over. The maid showed them into the library, a room occupied by three young men, a small fire, and an impressive number of books in matched bindings which looked as if they had never been opened. A spaniel raised its head, decided they were of no interest and returned to its sleep in an armchair beside the fire.

‘What cheer,’ grinned a stocky young man, dark haired with a small moustache which was failing both to flourish and to give the desired debonair appearance to its owner. ‘Glad to see you. You remember Stibbson and Ha’penny, don’t you? ‘

Algy shook hands, and assured them that he did. Fuller introductions were made to Biggles but before the spate of reminiscences could begin, Algy held up his hand. 

‘Let me go and pay my compliments to Aunt Constance before we get started. Where do I find her?’

Jonno smiled a smile of great satisfaction. ‘Chipping Norton.’ 

‘What?’

‘She’s not here. My eldest sister’s sprogs woke up covered in spots a few days ago, then, yesterday, my sister and the nanny joined ‘em. M’mother’s had to post off to help with the nursing and run the household and do all those things women do when there’s a problem indoors. I’ll tell her you asked after her, if I remember, but I don’t think she’ll be back for a few days.’

‘And she let you have friends over even though she was away,’ Algy said incredulously. He was aware that this made Jonno sound like a six year old, but he knew his Aunt Constance and he knew how little she trusted her son. 

Jonno grinned even wider. ‘She expected the guv’nor to be about. He was making up a party in the Scottish Highlands and should’ve been back by now but they’ve had a spot of stormy weather and the trains can’t run until a landslide or two have been cleared from the tracks and the line made safe. He thought he’d be back today, but the engineers weren’t satisfied so he’s stuck until tomorrow. If he’s lucky and there isn’t some more bad weather up there. I’m getting hourly telegrams.’  
‘It’ll be fine,’ Algy said encouragingly. ‘We’re all older now and we’re not going to do anything that will upset Aunt Constance. She’ll come home and see that all her worry was completely unnecessary. Who is in the house? Us and the servants? Are you expecting anyone else?’

Biggles wondered briefly what had happened in the past. Algy’s word choice made him think that something had. Maybe he’d find out later. 

‘The housekeeper, cook and the maids live in. They have rooms at the back of the house. Otherwise there’s us and my little sister, who has a few friends staying. She’s planning a party for her birthday next month and apparently can’t do it without copious female support. I don’t suppose they’ll bother us.’

It appeared that Stibbson and Ha’penny, like Algy and Jonno, were all blessed with a multitude of sisters. Sister stories to make the hair curl were swapped over the next while, all the other men assuring Biggles how lucky he was not to be possessed of any. Biggles agreed and laughed at their stories, fondling the ears of the old spaniel which had decided to sit by his feet. A tray of tea things was brought in and the conversation became more general. The other four had been to school together, but mutual acquaintances and connections were discovered as the afternoon turned into evening, and by dinnertime Biggles was willing to vote the others jolly good sorts and was pleased he had come.

The two parties met in the hall for pre-dinner cocktails. Jonno assured them all that he could mix a mean French 75 and proceeded to do so. Sipping it with the caution it deserved, Biggles turned his attention to the girls and waited to be introduced. They were of what he thought of as an in-between age. Old enough to have finished their formal schooling, but slightly too young for marriage. He expected he’d see them in the distance around town in the next few months, gaining some polish before marrying and having their own families. Soon, he had all six of them identified. Jonno’s youngest sister was Kitty, tall, slender, dark of hair and eyes like her brother, but with a much more finished look to her. Things would go right for Kitty as often as they went wrong for Jonno. Phyllis was also dark, and thin, and alone of the girls had kept her hair long and piled on her head in defiance of fashion. Jane and Joan were standard brown with healthy complexions and sturdy figures. Sporty described them, Biggles thought. Tilly was ginger. There was no other word for her hair colour, and freckles covered her cheerful, snub-nosed face despite her best efforts to hide them with face powder. Helen - who seemed to be known as Hell, something which thoroughly startled Biggles the first time he heard her friends call ‘Oh, Hell’ before he worked it out – was a voluptuous blonde who somehow looked very familiar. 

‘Forgive my curiosity,’ he murmured, ‘but do you have an older brother with whom I might be acquainted?’

‘Captain Ernest Batson, Framlingham, Lifeguards, died at Ypres, Major Eustace Batson, Framlingham, Royal Fusiliers, died in East Africa, Captain Thomas Batson, Framlingham, Royal Flying Corps, died in France,’ Helen reeled off. ‘Any help?’ she asked.

Biggles was grinning from ear to ear. ‘Batson of 266? We called him Batty, of course. He was a great pal of mine. I was with him when he went west.’

Helen suddenly looked rather younger and less sophisticated than she had a few moments before. 

‘You knew Thomas? I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name properly. Such a scrum in here.’

Biggles obligingly re-introduced himself. 

‘Oh, Thomas used to mention you all the time in his letters,’ she crowed. ‘You must tell me some stories of him. I was only a kid when we lost him.’

‘Algy knew him as well,’ Biggles told her, waving casually in his direction. ‘He was in 266, too.’

Helen’s eyes went wide. ‘He’s the Algy Thomas wrote about?’ She looked slightly dubiously at Algy who was laughing at something Ha’penny had said, and was consequently looking even less like a war hero than he usually did.

‘Yes, the man who survived the war more by luck than judgement,’ Biggles assured her.

The sound of a gong announced that dinner was served.

Helen managed to get seated next to Biggles to continue their conversation over dinner. ‘You don’t mind if I call you Biggles, do you? I feel that I already know you from Thomas’s letters.’

‘Not at all. I’m much happier being called Biggles. Bigglesworth is such a mouthful.’

Helen had an amusing drawl and a sardonic sense of humour which made the meal pass quickly for Biggles as he regaled her with tales of the 266 Mess and her brother. She asked intelligent questions and Biggles shared a little more with her than he probably should have done.

‘You’re very enthusiastic about that girl,’ Algy muttered to him as they left the dining room. ‘Not like you to fall for such a youngster.’  
‘Batty Batson’s little sister,’ Biggles muttered back. ‘Wanted to know about her brother.’

The men retired to the billiard room whilst the girls converged on a sitting room which contained the gramophone. Soon the men were playing a light-hearted competition in which poor shots were ruthlessly mocked whilst past events were dragged up from the oblivion they had been thankfully resting in, shaken out and held up for examination once more. Biggles shared the contents of the letter his aunt had written to him in advance of Algy’s arrival at 266 which caused a great deal of mirth, but it was Jonno who came in for the worst ribbing. It was Jonno who had gone to the Stores to ask for elbow grease. It was Jonno who had returned the next day to request a long weight. He had wasted most of three days waiting before a kindly second lieutenant explained the joke to him. It was Jonno who had contacted the Coastguard to ask them for their aid in the search for a ship and had then refused to give its last known position for security reasons…. He took the chaffing good-humouredly and didn’t let it interfere with his shot making. Jonno was easily the best billiards player in the room. From the stories he was hearing, Biggles thought that he’d be a good shot, too, and a good cricketer. Anything that depended on reaction rather than thought. 

The billiard competition hotted up towards the end, mainly due to Algy making an unexpectedly long break and racking the points up to bring the second pair within reach of the first. Attention was being paid to the table as the door opened and the girls appeared.

‘Thought you’d all be in bed by now,’ Jonno grunted, his attention on the balls not the girls. ‘Don’t interrupt. We’re at a critical point.’

Obediently, the girls ranged themselves out of the way. There was something different about them, Biggles thought, his attention on the difficult cannon Algy was attempting. The red rolling into the bottom pocket brought the difference to Biggles’s mind. Kitty and Jane, the only two he’d seen clearly as they entered, now had red rosebud mouths and their eyes had been darkened. Ha’penny re-spotted the red and Biggles moved the pointer up to reflect the scoring shots.

‘Shall I take over scoring duties?’ a soft voice asked at his elbow. Biggles glanced down. Joan had also darkened her eyes and painted a small pout onto her lips. Algy distracted him by knocking his cue ball clean off the table. With a groan, Biggles subtracted the points; the cue was passed rapidly between Stibbson, Ha’penny and then back to Jonno who quickly made a big enough break to reach the 501 they were playing to. 

Grinning, Jonno accepted congratulations from the others then noticed his sister. 

‘What’s that muck on your face?’ he asked, disapprovingly. ‘Mama would have a fit if she saw you painted up like that and Nanny would spit on her hanky and scrub your face clean whilst scolding you for playing with used matches.’

Kitty sniffed. ‘It’s all the rage according to the fashion magazines. You’re so old fashioned and behind the times. Everyone looks like this in London.’

Biggles cast his eyes around the room and noticed that all the girls were wearing much more make up than they had been earlier. He couldn’t see Helen’s knees clearly in the shadowy area she was sitting in, but he rather thought that she had rouged them. He wondered if any of the others had, too, but a quick glance showed their knees weren’t currently available for inspection. He supposed that girls must have to practice with their clothes and make up in order to make the transformation between the scrubby schoolgirl sisters some of his friends had and the scarcely older sophisticates he saw out and about around London and that this was the sort of occasion when they practiced.

‘Let’s play,’ cried Tilly, clapping her hands together. ‘You’ll partner me, won’t you, Major Bigglesworth?’

‘George can score,’ Kitty pouted at her brother. ‘He’s too good. You’ll play with me, won’t you, Captain Lacey?’

‘Why don’t we play in two teams?’ Helen suggested. ‘Then if George scores, we’ll be equal in number. She looked under her darkened lashes at Biggles. ‘I’m afraid that I’m very stupid at this game and you’ll have to help me, Biggles.’ 

The hairs rose on the back of Biggles’s neck. He wasn’t sure why the girls had changed their appearances and manners, but he could recognise a pack on the hunt when he saw one and he felt like prey.

‘You’ll be much better off being coached by anyone other than me,’ Biggles told her, with more promptitude than elegance. ‘I’m completely outclassed here. An absolute rank amateur.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you’re being modest,’ Helen purred. 

‘I’ll help you,’ Ha’penny volunteered.

‘There you go,’ Biggles smiled. ‘You’ll do much better with Ha’penny here.’

The rest of the evening was not quite what Biggles had expected. Everyone treated Jonno as a rather stupid but much loved older brother. Phyllis, the least made up of the girls, was pleasant to all, but a touch withdrawn in her manner. Biggles learnt that she was the vicar’s daughter, whose mother had died young so she had taken on many parish duties from a young age. He thought that accounted for her air of assurance and determination to keep the men at a slight distance. He didn’t think that she was particularly pleased at how events had turned out and was sacrificing her preferences to try and keep her giddier friends reminded of the proprieties. And her friends were giddy. For probably the first time in his life, Biggles was aware that there were, so to speak, no chaperones in the house, and rather to his surprise, it was making him a little uneasy.

On the surface, the banter was all that it should be. The girls were demurely asking for help in lining up their shots, which he was quite sure they didn’t really need, and the men were happily supplying it. That was fairly normal. No lines were being crossed. No one was behaving inappropriately. Maybe people were leaning a little closer together than they should have been as the coaching took place but both sides seemed happy and there wasn’t really anything to object to. 

‘Biggles! Come and help me,’ demanded Joan. ‘I miss every time I listen to Ha’penny.’

‘Changing horses in midstream?’ joked Biggles, standing on the opposite side of the table to her and indicating with a slender forefinger where on the cush she should aim. She made a moue of annoyance with her painted rosebud mouth, bent over her cue, remembered she should look as if she didn’t know what she was doing, straightened up somewhat, took her shot and missed.

‘You should have stayed with Ha’penny,’ laughed Helen, moving close to Biggles and reaching behind him. 

‘Chalk,’ she smiled, displaying it, her face sending the message that she had wanted an excuse to get near to him. ‘Shall I touch up your tip for you?’

Biggles handed his cue over and wondered if she knew what messages she was sending. An innocent wanting to be thought more sophisticated than she was, he suspected, aware that perhaps he shouldn’t have told her all the stories that he had over dinner.

‘What on earth do you think you are doing?’ spluttered Jonno, attracting everyone’s attention. His ire was directed at Kitty, who was arched over the table, with her cue behind her back, in a very fetching manner. ‘You should be coming off the bottom cush for that shot. Far more chance of making it if you do. You know this. I taught you how to play’ Jonno was concentrating on the game and oblivious to all the undercurrents in the room.

‘I don’t think Kitty’s main concern is scoring at billiards,’ Biggles muttered to Algy, who was applauding Kitty’s contortions. ‘She’s very good,’ Algy grinned. ‘I’m glad she’s on my side.’

Kitty missed her showy shot to dark mutters from her brother and applause from the men. ‘Jolly good show,’ Algy called, winning a flashing smile from Kitty. 

This display of appreciation of skill encouraged the other girls to start playing without asking to be coached. They recklessly attempted complicated cannons whilst the men responded with trick shots. Some were successful. There was a lot of laughter and glasses were refilled at a quicker rate whilst Jonno’s voice plaintively rose above the hubbub as he complained that the teams’ scores were going backwards rather than forwards.

Finally the game was over. Stibbson and Ha’penny were dragged off to dance by a couple of the girls. Jonno demonstrated how to do trick shots successfully on the billiard table. Biggles slipped outside for a spot of fresh air and a quiet smoke. He thought he’d done so unobserved, but a moment later, Helen joined him. 

‘What a beautiful moon,’ she remarked, looking up at the completely ordinary half moon hanging in the cloudless night sky. 

‘Smoke?’ Biggles asked, with a touch of resignation at the loss of his quiet time, offering her his open case. She accepted and held onto his wrist as he guided the flame to her cigarette. She drew on it a touch clumsily and Biggles wondered how long she had been smoking for. Not very long, he thought. Smoking was one of those things that modern girls took up along with make up and clothes. She gave a theatrical shudder and moved as close to Biggles as she could.  
‘It’s colder than I thought it would be. It’s been so warm during the day that clothes seem quite unnecessary but I’m rather cool now.’ 

Biggles slipped out of his coat and held it out for her. ‘Allow me,’ he offered, helping her into it, whilst using the opportunity to increase the distance between them again. 

‘Mmmm, It smells lovely.’ Helen turned the lapels up and snuggled down into the jacket. ‘What cologne do you use?’ 

‘Eau de motor engine,’ Algy answered behind her, much to Biggles’s relief. ‘With a good dose of dog. There was an old spaniel which was very taken with him earlier.’ There was a feminine giggle. Biggles wondered if Algy had come out with the girl or if she’d followed him. 

‘Max is a very good judge of people,’ Kitty offered. ‘If he likes you, then you must be a very nice person.’

‘Max is an excellent judge of people,’ Biggles agreed. ‘I’m a very nice person and modest with it.’

The girls giggled again. Kitty shivered.

‘Are you cold? Shall I fetch you a rug?’ Algy asked.

‘No, no,’ Kitty demurred, ‘but if I could just have your coat around my shoulders to keep the breeze off.’

Algy was nothing loathe to give up his jacket on a warm, balmy and breeze-free evening and soon Kitty was perched on the balustrade marking the end of the terrace with Helen beside her. She, also, was inexpertly smoking one of Algy’s cigarettes. It was a little strange to see the transformation between schoolgirl and bright young thing happen in front of his eyes, Biggles reflected.

‘Did the moon look like this in France,’ Helen wondered.

‘Oh no,’ Algy replied promptly. ‘It was very ordinary in France. I didn’t see anything attractive by its light when I was out there.’  
This went down very well. Biggles began to estimate his chances of sneaking back into the house and leaving the girls to Algy.

‘It’s hot in France, isn’t it?’ Kitty asked. ‘Did you spend a lot of evenings sitting outside under the moon? It sounds so romantic.’  
‘I’m afraid I was usually inside, playing bridge,’ Biggles apologised. ‘And then I needed an early night if I was on dawn patrol.’

‘Flying through the dawn. How beautiful,’ sighed Helen. ‘I wish I could do that.’

‘You’ll have to come down to Croyden and book a joy ride,’ Biggles suggested. ‘I found it rather cold myself. For some reason I remember the horrible days more than the beautiful ones.’

‘You shouldn’t have been too lazy to get dressed under your sidcot suit,’ Algy laughed. ‘If you hadn’t gone flying in your pyjamas, you wouldn’t have got cold. The dorm would have smelt a lot better, too. All the castor oil that got onto the sheets and the laundry couldn’t get out.’

‘You had a bullet hole in your pyjamas,’ Biggles accused.

‘They were my favourite pair,’ Algy replied loftily. ‘I wasn’t going to let a little thing like a bullet hole stop me wearing them.’

‘Do you have a lot of scars?’ Kitty asked. ‘You’ve had such an exciting life.’

‘He can’t show you where his scar is,’ Biggles grinned. ‘He couldn’t sit for a week when he got it.’

This sally caused more giggling..

‘What are you doing out here?’ a voice demanded. Jonno had come to look for them. 

‘Just getting some fresh air,’ Algy called back. ‘We’ll be in in a minute. Are we wanted for anything?’

‘No, no, just checking that everything is alright. Phyllis was wondering where you’d got to, Kitty.’ 

Reminded of her duties as hostess, Kitty returned to the house, followed by Biggles, Algy and a reluctant Helen. Biggles looked discretely at his wristwatch as he slipped his coat back on. Another hour and he’d be able to head to bed.

‘Thank you very much,’ he said cheerfully. ‘It smells much better on its return than it did on its way out. I’m definitely ahead on points.’ 

Helen looked pleased. Phyllis appeared to round the girls back to the small sitting room with the gramophone and Biggles took his opportunity to slip into the library. 

The fire had died down but Max was still in his armchair. Biggles resumed his acquaintanceship and wondered ruefully how he was going to get out of this pickle of his own making. Well, it was too late now. There was no point crying over spilt milk. He should have realised that she’d made a hero of her brother and made sure he didn’t get caught up in the halo of her feelings. It wasn’t the first time a girl had been attracted to him for what he was rather than who he was, and it probably wouldn’t be the last but he usually spotted it a bit earlier and took better evasive action. He’d misjudged her age and maturity in the pleasure of finding she was Batty’s sister. Biggles groaned, threw another cigarette stub into the ashes of the fire and decided that if no other man wanted to lurk in a quiet corner with him, he’d have to do his duty by all the girls and depress Helen’s hopes that way. 

All the other men were now in the small sitting room which contained the gramophone. Biggles assessed the group with a practised eye. He thought that Jane and Joan had had rather too much to drink and would need to go to bed very shortly. They had the glassy-eyed look of unaccustomed drinkers. Stibbson dropped a new disc onto the gramophone. Biggles plastered a smile onto his face and prepared to get about. He turned to Tilly, the nearest girl. 

‘Can we dance a foxtrot to this?’ he asked. ‘It’s got to be a foxtrot as that’s the only one I know.’ 

They managed to dance a foxtrot to it, and by putting an extra twirl at the end, Biggles managed to end next to Kitty rather than Helen and asked her to dance next. Then he noticed that Phyllis’s glass was empty and asked if he could re-fill it for her.

‘I am rather thirsty,’ she admitted. ‘I know the window is open, but no air seems to be getting into the room and I’m getting hotter and hotter. Soda water, please, with nothing added to the soda.’ 

‘I’m reliable,’ Biggles promised, and brought her a soda water. 

‘Would you like a turn on the terrace,’ he asked, ‘for some fresh air?’ 

Phyllis looked tempted, but refused. 

‘I don’t think anything is going to happen in the next few minutes,’ Biggles suggested. ‘We could easily pop out and you’d feel much brighter and ready to wrestle polar bears afterwards.’

Phyllis laughed. ‘No, I’m happy here.’ 

‘If you want to combine getting out of this stifling room with being a Good Samaritan, then you might help Jane and Joan to bed,’ Biggles suggested. ‘I think they’ve had about enough and are only sitting here because they don’t know how to leave.’

Phyllis looked rueful. ‘I’ve suggested it but they don’t want to spoil the party.’ 

‘Tell ‘em I can’t go to bed unless they do,’ Biggles answered, wishing they were junior officers under his command that he could order to bed,and feeling rather bored with the whole situation. 

Phyllis went to ask again and this time they were willing to go. Jonno told Kitty to help, which she reluctantly did. The gramophone fell silent, and Biggles helped to pull the chairs into a cosy grouping and then slid in between Algy and Tilly. Helen settled for the other side of Algy, with the other three men fitting between Tilly and her. Jonno refreshed everyone’s glasses and those still awake settled down to a general discussion of the state of the world. Biggles participated enthusiastically and was still expounding his views on the Russian situation as reported in the papers to Algy as they walked up the stairs to bed. He paused outside his door,

‘You can have the bathroom first,’ he said generously. ‘Knock on my door when you are done.’

Biggles emptied his pockets onto a chest of drawers and changed into his pyjamas, still thinking about the Russian situation. He was pulling on his dressing gown when there was the promised knock, and he was still thinking about the Russians when he returned to his room. He opened the window to air it. It was a wide sash window, which bafflingly opened onto a small balcony. Biggles leaned his elbows on the sill, smoked a final cigarette, threw the stubbed end away and slid between the sheets. There was a tap on his door. ‘Yes?’ he called, presuming it was Algy coming to borrow a couple of cigarettes for the morning or some other small emergency.

It was a much smaller figure than Algy’s which slipped into his room. Biggles sat up abruptly.

‘What’s wrong?’ he demanded.

Helen approached the bed. ‘I couldn’t sleep for thinking about Thomas. I thought how nice it would be if I could just sit close to you and think about him some more.’ She made as if to sit down on the edge of the bed but Biggles was already swinging his legs out and reaching for his dressing gown. 

‘Well, you can’t sit near me in here,’ he told her. ‘Go and get your dressing gown and meet me in the kitchen.’

Once in the kitchen, Biggles opened doors and explored until he found some milk and a pan. ‘A glass of hot milk will settle you,’ he told her. A further rummage produced some Ovaltine. ‘Unless you’d prefer this muck?’ 

He could see Helen consider objecting that she was not a child to be sent to bed with hot milk and weighing it against the length of time she could make it last in his company. She was a trier, he gave her that. He wondered just how far she was willing to go? Was she hoping for a few, chaste kisses or wanting to boast that she had lost her virginity to an Air Ace? Either way, she was going to be unlucky, he thought grimly. She was going to get herself into a lot of trouble if she wasn’t careful, but it wouldn’t be with him. 

Biggles poured the boiled milk out into the beakers, passed one to Helen, made sure he was sat on the opposite side of the kitchen table to her, and began to apologise. Biggles had dressed down a number of junior officers in his time and he knew exactly how to make his words sting. Helen gathered that Biggles was sorry that he had mistaken her level of maturity and upset her with reminiscences that she was too young to appreciate. She seethed silently over her milk and stalked up to bed once more.

Hoping that he could now get some sleep, Biggles gave her five minutes and followed.

He was not pleased, a few moments later, to hear someone hovering outside his room once more. He slipped out of bed, thrust his feet back into his still warm slippers, his dressing gown went around his shoulders once more, and he quietly slid his window open and climbed silently out over the sill onto the little balcony outside then returned the window to its original position. Algy, he knew, had the next room. He’d sleep with him. He peered to his right. The next balcony, as he remembered, was only a few inches from his. If the balcony coping stones were solid, it would be a simple matter to step from one to the other and so be in a position to open the next window further and climb through. He tested the stones with his hands and they were perfectly safe, so he hurriedly clambered up and across. The window opened easily. Biggles slid in, walked to the bed and sat on the edge of it. ‘Budge up,’ he hissed. ‘and let me have a pillow.’ He reached across to shake the shoulder of the sleeping figure. 

‘Major Bigglesworth. What do you think you are doing?’ it said icily. 

Biggles threw himself off the bed, tripping over his feet in his haste and landing on the floor.

‘You’re not Algy,’ he accused. ‘I’m so, so sorry. I thought Algy had the next room.’

‘I shall not enquire for what purpose you wish to share the bed of your friend,’ Phyllis said icily, ‘or why you found it necessary to enter what you thought to be his room so nefariously, but I think you ought to make your way back to your own room.’

Biggles was embarrassed enough that it took him a moment to realise Phyllis’s meaning. ‘It’s not like that at all,’ he said indignantly, ‘and I don’t think you should know about stuff like that never mind shout about it as if it was common behaviour. If my own room wasn’t being invaded by females with no morals, then I wouldn’t be looking for somewhere else to sleep.’

‘Hell,’ sighed Phyllis. 

‘It is,’ agreed Biggles, before realising what she meant. ‘Anyway. No one can bother me if I’m not in my room to be bothered. Do you happen to know where Algy is?’

‘The next room to yours, Phyllis told him. ‘This isn’t really a room. It’s a dressing room partitioned off from the main room with a bed put in it when Kitty’s grandmother lived here and she needed nursing through the night. I was expecting to go home this evening, but Kitty asked me to stay as she was concerned that some of our friends might need help and she wasn’t sure what to do. There wasn’t another room unoccupied on this floor so I said I’d take this as it would be convenient for anyone needing assistance in the night.’

‘Turn your back,’ she said firmly, ‘and don’t turn round again until I say you can. I’ll unlock the connecting door for you, then lock it again when you’ve gone through.’

Biggles obediently turned his back, heard a heavy key turn then the sheets rustle as Phyllis regained her bed. ‘Thanks, You’re a sport,’ he said gratefully as he slipped through into Algy’s room.

‘Wake up,’ Biggles told Algy, shaking him by the shoulder. 

‘I don’t want to do dawn patrol,’ Algy told him. ‘I want to sleep.’

‘So do I,’ Biggles agreed. ‘So I’m joining you. Give me a pillow and you can go back to sleep.’

Algy grunted, which could have meant anything. Biggles pulled a pillow from beneath his head, pulled the blankets and sheets loose at the foot of the bed and slid in, top to tail with Algy. Sleep followed almost instantly.

Biggles was dreaming that an elephant was creeping silently up a hotel corridor, trying to unlock all the doors using a banana held in its trunk, when he became aware that someone actually was opening the room door and real life was being reflected in his dream. He lay there, nerves aquiver, waiting to see what would happen next. The moon had set so he couldn’t see who had entered the room, but he could hear a person groping its way towards the bed and finding it by walking into it. ‘Oww,’ a voice said drowsily – a female voice, Biggles noted grimly – and then a body rolled into the bed and almost instantly emitted a small snore. Algy came awake enough at this further invasion of his privacy to poke his new companion and then it was his turn to crash out of a bed in surprise.

‘Miss,’ Biggles called quietly from his end of the bed, sitting up and drawing his knees up, ‘Miss, I think you’ve got the wrong room.’

‘What are you doing here?’ Algy demanded, obviously without memory of Biggles’s arrival. ‘That bed is barely big enough for one. Why are three people in it?’ 

‘I was escaping unwanted visitors in the night,’ Biggles explained briefly, removing himself from the bed. ‘I did wake you and I suppose I better wake her. I think she’s walking in her sleep.’

‘Hell, no, you can’t wake her.’ Algy sounded aghast. ‘You should never wake sleepwalkers, and anyway, I bet if you did, she’d scream the place down and how would we explain it?’

‘You’re right.’ Biggles sounded equally appalled. ‘How am I going to sort this out?’ he muttered. ‘let me think a moment.’

‘There’s only one thing to do,’ he muttered, orientating himself and moving cautiously towards the connecting door with the dressing room. He rapped gently on it.  
‘Phyllis,’ he called quietly. ‘Phyllis. I need your help again. Urgently. Phyllis.’ 

Disturbances in the night were not unknown to Phyllis the vicar’s daughter, who proved easy to wake. 

‘What?’ she asked grumpily from the other side of the door.

‘There’s a girl in the bed,’ Biggles explained. ‘I think she must have been sleep walking. Can you get her back where she belongs? I think she might start screaming if I wake her up and she finds herself in a room with two men.’

‘Is this some kind of joke?’ demanded Phyllis.

‘I only wish it was,’ Biggles groaned. ‘All I want to do is sleep the sleep of the just, but the universe is conspiring against me.’

‘I’m going to put a small light on in this room,’ Phyllis announced, ‘so I can see what I’m doing. Face the door and close your eyes. I’ll walk past you and tell you when you can open them again. You are to come into my room, stay out of sight and not look whilst I sort it all out.’

Biggles and Algy leaned against the window whilst Phyllis, in the adjoining room, persuaded their visitor to get out of bed and accompany her. 

‘Do you know who it is?’ Algy asked in an under-voice. Biggles shrugged. ‘I don’t think it was tall enough to be Kitty. Other than that, I’ve no idea and I don’t care. I want my beauty sleep.’

‘You need it.’ Algy shook his head. ‘This is turning into rather a peculiar party isn’t it? Not really what I was expecting.’

Biggles agreed wholeheartedly.

Phyllis returned. ‘Shut your eyes,’ she instructed as she came into the room. ‘I’ve put her back in her own bed. She hasn’t walked in her sleep since we were in the upper fourth. I think it must be down to all the alcohol she drank earlier. Anyway,’ she added. ‘I’ve been thinking. You must be very uncomfortable crammed into that small bed together. Why doesn’t Major Bigglesworth have my bed and I shall doze a little in his room. Give me a moment to get my things together. You’ll be able to return to your room in the morning without any difficulty as I shall arise early and go home.’

‘Phyllis,’ Biggles said fervently. ‘You are a woman in a million and if I wasn’t a confirmed bachelor, I’d marry you. Sleep, here I come’

Moments later, Phyllis had collected her things; Biggles and Algy were allowed to open their eyes and had stumbled into their respective beds to return to the arms of Morpheus.

‘Are you still asleep,’ a voice exclaimed in surprise the next morning. 

‘Yes,’ Biggles replied grumpily before it dawned on him that the voice was female and expected him to be, too. Light was streaming in at the window so he supposed he should be awake. He pulled a pillow from under his head and put it over his face. 

‘Where’s Phyllis?’ the voice demanded. ‘What have you done with her?’ 

‘She’s probably gone home,’ Biggles told the female through his pillow. ‘She said she was going to get away early.’

‘Ohh! 

Biggles heard the door shut and footsteps hurry away. He supposed he’d better get up and accordingly found his dressing gown and slippers. Listening to make sure no one was around, he slipped out of the dressing room and along to his own room to pick up his washbag.  
Soon, a clean and refreshed Biggles was dressing. Once more there was a knock at his door. This time it was Jonno. A very embarrassed Jonno.

‘Kitty’s just come to me with an extraordinary tale,’ he began. ‘She found you in Phyllis’s room this morning?’ 

‘She did indeed,’ Biggles agreed, who’d had time to think about the interpretation which might have been put on his words and behaviour and to think of a story which was essentially true, if incomplete.

‘One of your guests walked in her sleep last night and I had to wake Phyllis to ask for her help in relocating the young lady. I was afraid that she’d be very embarrassed and frightened if I woke her. Phyllis suggested, very sensibly, that we exchange rooms for what remained of the night so that if the person walked in her sleep again, she would be on the spot to deal with it. She was intending to leave the house early, so rather than disturb the house moving all my things, I left them here knowing the room would have been vacated by the time I awoke and needed them. I’m afraid that I never considered one of Phyllis’s friends coming into her room and finding me. I’m not at my brightest when woken up in the middle of the night.’

‘I’m sorry you were disturbed,’ Jonno said, rather stiffly. 

Biggles grinned. ‘Think nothing of it, old chap. But I might borrow a chair to put under the door handle tonight. It’s most unnerving to wake up and find you’re not alone in the room. I thought I was being burgled.’

At breakfast, Biggles received an embarrassed and reproachful look from both Helen and Kitty who busied themselves with toast and marmalade at the far end of the table. He wondered if Helen had entered his room a second time to find Phyllis in it. He might find out later but currently was grateful to be left alone to eat. He was considering arranging for an urgent message to call him away, but had decided to take the temperature of the household first, to discover if there was any real need for it. He’d liked the people he had met here but he wanted to sleep alone and undisturbed and not gain an unwanted and untrue reputation for being a Lothario. 

Several of the girls hadn’t come downstairs yet. That could be due to embarrassment or hangovers from the clearly unaccustomed amounts of alcohol they had drunk the preceding evening. This was all to the good, he thought, they would be more likely to socialise in their own group and not join the men. 

Two women Biggles didn’t know walked into the breakfast room, slim, dark-haired and sophisticated wearing travelling clothes. 

‘Where’s George?’ the first demanded. 

‘Forget George,’ the other one told her. ‘I’m famished. I’ve been travelling since five this morning. We can find him after breakfast.’ 

Biggles decided, from their obvious strong resemblance to Kitty and their familiarity with the house, that he was looking at two more of Jonno’s sisters and this proved to be the case. Jonno’s mother, hearing that her husband was stranded in Scotland, had peremptorily ordered two of her daughters, currently residing in London, to return immediately to the family home to make sure Jonno was supervised. Their resistance had proved futile, and they had travelled up on the first train of the day. Relaxing, Biggles helped himself to another sausage. The rest of the weekend would be alright now. Jonno’s sisters would keep the girls on the right side of propriety, and he could relax, play croquet and take a walk by the river in perfect safety. He might even take tea at the vicarage to say thank you to Phyllis. It would all be very sedate and dignified and very relaxing.

**Author's Note:**

> This was not the story I intended writing. I was aiming for a rip roaring farce with lots of very knowledgeable and experienced young ladies pursuing Biggles and Algy throughout the house but it decided to become something else.


End file.
